


Your Name...

by Galloping_Monroe



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, The Your Name AU No One Asked For, your name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10595601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galloping_Monroe/pseuds/Galloping_Monroe
Summary: The first time Victor wakes up in the body of a Japanese teenager, he thinks it's just a dream. A vivid dream, but still nothing serious. When it happens again, he is faced with the fact that this is really happening. Sometimes he wakes up in a body that is not his own.And that someone wakes up in his body in return.ORThe Your Name Victuri AU no one asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So... I saw Your Name last night. Instead of writing Chapter 26 of Language Barriers, I HAD to write this. It would not get out of my brain until I did.
> 
> EDIT: This is what I get for pumping out 11K+ in five hours and posting at midnight. I've added a bit at the end to kind of clarify things and fixed some typos! ^_^

It happened for the first time in the summer of his twenty-first year, and Victor thought it was a dream.

 

It was a vivid dream, he remembered thinking. It started with the sound of the gulls out his window. Not an altogether strange occurrence since he often left his window cracked in the summer to allow any cool breeze from off the waterfront in. It was when he rolled over and opened his eyes that he realized anything was wrong.

 

He blinked a few times, waiting for the sleep haze to lift from his vision, but it didn’t. Everything remained soft and out of focus, the further away an object was, the blurrier around the edges. Even with the fuzziness, he could tell this was not his room. The bed was too narrow, the mattress too hard. It was too small and cramped and dark. Victor’s bedroom was large and open and had large windows to let in the morning light.

 

Victor sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and froze.

 

Where he had been expecting to feel where some tendrils had escaped the braid he always twisted his long, silver hair into during the nights, all his felt was short, though remarkably soft, ends. Too short. Far too short. His fingers scrabbled around the crown of his head and down to his nape, breath punching out of him in a pure panic as he felt nothing but short hairs fading into the smooth skin of his neck.

 

Where was his hair?

 

That thought set him into motion and he threw back the think blanket he’d been curled under and shot to his feet, banging his hip on a bedside table that shouldn’t have been there. He cursed out loud, feeling the words taking on a strange twist in his mouth that he didn’t have the time to think about right then because someone had snuck into his flat in the middle of the night, rearranged his furniture and cut his hair. Was it a fan? Was it a terrible prank executed by one of his rinkmates? Why was this happening to him?

 

He noticed something glinting in the weak morning light coming in from the one, small window behind the bed. Stumbling around in a body that suddenly felt far too short, Victor made it three steps across the room and to the desk, grabbing the mirror that had caught his attention from where it was propped up against the wall.

 

That was not his face.

 

His hair was dark, short, and spiked up in random directions from the pillow. His eyes were wide and brown, face tanned and rounder than what he was used to. He reached up with his free hand and ran his index finger over chapped lips, noting that the finger itself had nails that were not neatly trimmed, but rather bitten down almost to the quick.

 

A dream. This had to be a dream because if this was real life then Victor was currently trapped inside the body of what looked to be an Asian teenager and that was just absolutely ridiculous. That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. It was insane.

 

“Brother! Where are you? Did you sleep through your alarm again?” Victor jumped at the sound of a girl’s voice just outside his door. Before he could prepare himself, the sliding door to the room that wasn’t his room slide open and he turned to find a young woman with short hair and blonde tips standing there with her hands on her hips. “Ah? You’re up. Good. Come on, lazy bones. Mom needs help in the kitchen before you go to the rink.”

 

“The rink?” Victor latched onto the familiar words in her statement.

 

“Yes, the rink. Unless you’re giving up on being a competitive figure skater…” The girl in the doorway winked. “Hurry. And put on your glasses. I know you don’t like them, but you’re more useless than usual when you can’t see.”

 

The girl turned to leave, waving over her shoulder as she went, leaving Victor standing alone in the middle of the room.

 

“Glasses?” Victor turned the word over on his tongue. Everything still felt weird, the syllables of the language echoing strangely throughout his head. Now that he was more awake he realized he wasn’t speaking English, or Russian, and any other language he knew, but he seemed to understand whatever they were speaking well enough, and the girl had seemed to understand him in return. Well, dreams weren’t supposed to make sense, right? That’s why they were dreams?

 

There were blue frames sitting on the bedside table he’d bumped into before and he grabbed them, placing them on his face with shaking hands. The world came back into crisp clarity. That was better.

 

Well, no point sitting here sulking. If he wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, he might as well explore.

 

~

 

“What do you mean I was acting off yesterday?” Yuri was sitting on a bench at Ice Castle tying his skates in preparation for his training session that morning. His best friend Yuko was next to him, also tying on her own pair of white skates. “What did I do?”

 

“Nothing specific. You were just… Different?” Yuko shrugged, finishing the last knot with a flourish and pushing herself to her feet. “You acted like you didn’t even know my name at first and then while we were skating you tried to do a quad loop. I didn’t even know you were practicing quads. Minako-sensei said you shouldn’t try for quads until you’re sixteen.”

 

“I don’t remember that…” Yuri shook his head, trying to clear out his suddenly murky thoughts. His knees definitely ached enough for him to have tried an ill-advised quad the day before but that couldn’t be. “I thought… I thought I had dreamed something like that.”

 

“It wasn’t a dream. You definitely tried one.” Yuko was now looking down at him with concern obvious in her brown eyes. "You almost got it, too."

 

“I won’t do it again. I promise.” Not that he thought he had done in the first place, but maybe he had. The dream from the night before was still fuzzy in his head. He had been skating there, too. Gliding over the ice as though he had been born to do nothing else. A flash of sliver and blue and… And he couldn’t remember anything else, other than it had been a good dream. Of that he was sure. And it had felt so real. He could just be confused.

 

“Good. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before next season. Is Minako-sensei still talking about trying to qualify you for the Junior Grand Prix?”

 

Yuri nodded, tying his last knot as well and following Yuko to the barrier surrounding the ice, bending down to remove his guards and step out onto the fresh ice. He took a deep breath and pushed off, letting his momentum push him along the outer wall as he went through his internal process of gaining his balance and getting the feel for this morning’s ice under his blades.

 

“She’s talking about it, but I don’t think I’ll qualify.” Yuri twisted his body so that he was skating backwards now, eye trained downwards as he crossed his legs over with every stroke.

 

“Don’t say that! You’ll qualify for sure this year. I’ll be Victor Nikiforov will be there, too! You can see him skate in person.” Yuko skated past him, her giggles echoing through the open space of the rink as she went. “I’d be so jealous!”

 

“Even if he is there, he isn’t going to watch to watch the Juniors skate. He’ll have better things to do. I probably won’t even see him.” Despite his glum words, Yuri couldn’t stop the way his heart sped up at the thought. The thought that someone like Victor would ever want to watch him skate. He reached out subconsciously and rubbed at where he had a pair of pale blue laces he’d saved from his first pair of skates wrapped around his wrist. Just running his fingers over it seemed to ground him some. “It won’t matter if I don’t make it, anyway, so we should practice, right?”

 

“Definitely.” Yuko winked and then they were off, speed increasing as they warmed up their muscles and prepared for a long day of work.

 

If was the summer of Yuri’s fifteenth year and he was determined that he was going to make it to the Junior Grand Prix Final.

 

~

 

Victor was woken up, not to his alarm clock, but to the feeling of a wet, rough tongue rasping over his cheek.

 

“Makkachin!” Victor admonished gently as he rolled over with a groan, trying to get away from his affectionate dog. It had been awhile since Makkachin had gotten out of the habit of waking him before his alarm, but every so often something would catch the dog’s attention and Victor would get the old wake up call from when he’d been a puppy.

 

He opened his eyes, not noticing the odd blurriness that made the edges of the furniture surrounding him softer than they should be as he wrapped his arms around his dog. The poodle yipped and wriggled happily in his arms, trying to roll over and give Victor access to his stomach, but Victor froze.

 

This was not his dog.

 

This dog was the right color. It was a poodle. Its fur was just as soft as curly as Makkachin’s, but he was too small. About half Makkachin’s size if Victor were to hazard a guess. There was a golden tag hanging from off a blue collar and Victor squinted in an effort to read it before some latent memory stirred and he reached out to grab the blue-framed glasses from the bedside table.

 

His sight restored to him, he grabbed for the dog’s tag again, a challenge as it was now trying to lick his face in earnest again, but Victor managed. In the dim lighting he could just make out English characters inscribed there.

 

“Vic-chan?” Victor murmured aloud and the poodle barked loudly and wriggled out of Victor’s grasp, jumping down from the bed and running over to where the sliding door to the room had been left slightly ajar. “Oh my god, it’s happening again…”

 

This time it took Victor a bit longer to stop his inherent need to freak out.

 

“Get it together, Nikiforov. This is a dream. It has to be. An oddly specific one, but still a dream. What else could it be?” He repeated the words one more time for good measure, trying to convince himself.

 

Once he had his breathing back under control he glanced around the room, taking stock of his surroundings for the first time. The last time he’d dreamed like this he’d just followed the girl, Mari if he remembered correctly, out of here in an effort to get as far away from brewing thoughts. This time, he was looking for clues. Something that might give him a better idea of what was happening to him.

 

What he found was himself. Everywhere.

 

Whoever this room belonged to was a fan, that much was easy to tell. There were about fifteen posters of himself spread over the walls. From him skating to one of him hugging Makkachin on the day he’d announced that he’d adopted the pup to the world. Everywhere he looked his familiar pale skin, long hair, and blue eyes looked back at him.

 

Everywhere except the small mirror that was still on the desk. There he was still a Japanese boy with amazingly deep and expressive brown eyes and inky strands of short hair.

 

“Who are you?”

 

~

 

This wasn’t happening. This was not happening.

 

Yuri hoped that if he said it enough, it might turn out to be true, but some part of him knew better. He’d always had the worst luck, after all. How hard would it really be to imagine that unlucky streak had extended to ending up in the body of his idol?

 

He stared into the mirror with a look of horror twisting the refined features of Victor Nikiforov’s face. A face that Yuri was currently wearing. A body Yuri was currently wearing like it was some kind of suit he could don whenever he felt like.

 

Only, that wasn’t right either. He hadn’t felt like waking up looking like a Russian figure skater. It had just happened.

 

“I thought it was a dream.” Yuri’s voice was deeper in this body, the English words holding the lilt of an accent that felt foreign in his brain even as it felt natural in his borrowed mouth. At his side there came the sound of toenails clicking on tile as the large poodle at his side shifted around, pushing a curly head against Yuri’s slack palm. “What am I going to do, Makkachin?”

 

The dog didn’t have an answer, and Yuri hadn’t really expected one. The first time this had happened he’d thought it was some kind of dream. His teenage mind giving him what he wanted in the form of living out a day in the life of someone he admired and aspired to be like. Now, he was starting to think this was less a fantasy and more a nightmare.

 

The phone he’d left on the porcelain sink buzzed and Yuri glanced down, pushing back a moment of disorientation as his mind tried to cope with the fact that his vision was now 20/20 without the assistance of corrective lenses. It was a text message, Cyrillic letters that should have meant nothing to him running through his mind while the body he was in translated them.

 

“I’m late for practice.” He looked down at the dog at his side. “I suppose you need to go for a quick walk and have some breakfast in case this isn’t a nightmare, huh?”

 

There was a calm in a familiar routine, even if the scenery and the poodle itself were not the same. By the time he’d walked Makkachin around the block, not wanting to stray too far in case he couldn’t find his way back again, and given the dog food, he felt better. More centered and less terrified.

 

He didn’t spend too long on getting ready, avoiding any mirror while he changed into workout clothes and brushed out Victor’s long hair. Not knowing what to do with it, he took the hair band it had been braided with and twisted the long strands into a bun on the top of his head. There. That should keep it out of his eyes at least.

 

At least practice was something he understood, even if he wasn’t used to the constant yelling from Victor’s coach. He also had no idea what program he was supposed to be skating since summer was the off season and no one had seen Victor’s programs for the new year yet. Forgetting choreography that was supposed to be simple for him caused the stress to return and Yuri was a nervous wreck by the end of the day. Especially since it would have been difficult to explain that he couldn’t have ‘forgotten’ something he’d never known in the first place.

 

He slid into Victor’s bed early, praying that when he opened his eyes he’d be back home in Hasetsu where he belonged.

 

~

 

Victor woke up the next day mercifully in his own bed and his own body. For how long, he didn’t know.

 

He grimaced as he sat up, hair tangled around him impossible knots. If he hadn’t been convinced the weird switch that was happening to him was happening to the Japanese boy he’d found himself in as well, that detail was enough to tip the scales. Victor never would have left his hair loose before going to bed for this very reason. It was going to take fifteen minutes, bare minimum, to brush out his hair.

 

Makkachin yawned and rest his head on Victor’s lap, tongue lolling and warm from sleep. Victor sighed and ran hand through his dog’s thick fur. “I missed you Makka… Though I guess you probably didn’t even know I was gone, did you?”

 

The poodle responds by licking the tip of his nose and wriggling around until he can slide off the edge of the bed with a deep stretch. Victor watches him go, still feeling disoriented and strange. It almost as though he is hoping to _feel_ some trace of the interloper in his bones if he tries hard enough, but there is nothing there. Nothing more than a few deeper aches and pains that usual which tells him that his body must have hit the ice a few times yesterday.

 

His phone buzzes, and Victor grabs it, scrolling through messages idly as he shuffles out of bed, noting that he is still in a set of track pants and an old T-shirt. His skin feels tacky enough that he is sure he did not have a shower the night before and he goes ahead and remedies this, spending a longer time under the hot spray of water than he should.

 

Victor blow dries his hair and pulls it up into his customary high ponytail, digging in the drawer for the pale blue skate lace he uses to tie it back every day. He isn’t sure exactly where got it. A fan maybe? He just knows that he always feels better when he wears it somewhere on his person.

 

He goes through his daily routine, walking and feeding Makkachin. Blending a together a smoothie comprised of fresh fruit and protein power. Stretching on his front porch. He jogs to the rink feeling refreshed and more centered.

 

When he gets there, he finds Yakov waiting for him, thunderclouds hanging over his head.

 

For a moment Victor is irritated. Whatever he did that has brought about his coach’s ire this time isn’t actually his fault. He’s about to get an earful for something he didn’t do, couldn’t have done because his consciousness was thousands of kilometers away in Japan when he was supposed to be here.

 

“You look better today.” Victor came to a stop, blinking slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around Yakov’s statement. For the murderous expression of his face, those words had come out more or less calm. Maybe even a bit relieved? “You looked ill yesterday. Couldn’t even remember your step sequences. You push yourself to too hard sometimes. You will fall ill if you are not careful.”

 

“I’m fine.” Victor brushes off his coach’s concern with a flippant smile and a wave. “Must have been a twenty-four hour bug. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Victor was pretty sure it was something to worry about, and he was sure this wasn’t going to be as simple as he was making it seem, but what else was he supposed to say? Hey, Yakov, I might need a few weeks off. There’s this random Japanese kid that sometimes inhabits my body while I’m off inhabiting his. Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be right as rain in a week or so.

 

No one would believe him. Victor didn’t even believe himself and he was the one living it.

 

“Go on. Get stretched and ready. We have a lot of work to do to make up for yesterday.”

 

Victor nodded, not trusting his voice not to give himself away. He does what he does best when he doesn’t know what to do.

 

He skates.

 

~

 

Yuri skates and he skates and then, when he feels as though he can’t go any longer, he skates some more.

 

He skates until his lungs burn, the cold from the rink settling in them as though it is now a part of him to his very core. He skates until his legs tremble and his feet ache. He skates until pain blooms up from the base of spine and into his skull, the percussion from his skates hitting the ice traveling through his shins and into his brain.

 

He skates until he collapses against the boards, sweating dripping from his face in a mockery of the tears he is so desperately trying not to shed.

 

Why is this happening to him?

 

His mind returns, unbidden, to the note that had been waiting for him next to the mirror on his desk when he awoken that morning. Written in shaky English, by a hand that is clearly still uncomfortable with writing in the language. Written in marker, the lines black and bold against the white paper.

 

_Who are you?_

That is an excellent question in Yuri’s opinion. Who is he?

 

There is a simple answer to such a question. He is Katsuki Yuri. He lives in a small town in Japan, off the coast. He is a skater, a high school student, a son and a brother. He owns a toy poodle he’d named after the skater that inspired his every waking moment. His idol, who’s mere image pushes him to reach out to accomplish things he never thought he could on his own.

 

Oh, and he randomly wakes up in said idol’s body every so often.

 

Though his legs are screaming and his shoulders bow under the strain, he pushes off the wall and he skates.

 

When he’s moving he doesn’t have to think about it. Doesn’t have to ponder that question any further. Doesn’t have to worry about what else it could mean.

 

_Who are you?_

 

Pathetic. Pinned down under the weight of his own dreams and desires. Constantly striving for something that is just out of reach. Weak willed and lacking common sense. He is someone who is slowly but surely going insane. How else can he explain what he now knows to be true? That these days where he is in Russia are not just dreams, but real life.

 

He runs his fingers over the blue lace around his wrist and he skates on.

 

Later that night, he soaks in the hot springs, exhaustion haunting his every motion. He feels it deep in his bones and in every pained twitch of his muscle. The hot water and natural minerals help. They ease the tension out of his body, but they do nothing to help the flurry of his mind.

 

How can he get this to stop? If he knew how would he even want to?

 

Of course, he tells himself. Of course, he would want it to stop. There is something inherently creepy in what is happening. Something that makes him feel like a stalker, despite how unwilling he is to be doing it at all.

 

But there is something else. There is a morning spent with Makkachin, who is just as friendly and outgoing as Yuri’s own dog. There waking up in a bed that belongs to Victor. Smelling his cologne.

 

Lacing up Victor’s skates, golden blades gleaming dully in the natural light coming from the floor to ceiling windows in a rink in Saint Petersburg. Executing a quad loop and having his body flow into it as though it was as natural as breathing.

 

No, stop. This needs to stop. He needs to find a way to make it stop. This isn’t right and it isn’t fair. He gets to spend time in Victor’s body while the champion has to spend time weighed down in Yuri’s? That is not an equal trade at all.

 

He spends time with his sister and mother after he is done with his soak. It calms him, having something to do with his hands. He is not the best cook, but he knows enough to chop vegetables, to stir sauces so they don’t burn on the bottom. The two women chatter over his head in Japanese and the familiar language calms him the last little bit that skating and the hot springs weren’t able to reach.

 

By the time he stumbles up the stairs for bed with Vic-chan on his heels, he feels as though he is ready to address the note that is waiting for him there.

 

_Who are you?_

 

Yuri sits down and he writes.

 

~

 

Now when Victor wakes up and has difficulty seeing, he knows why. It doesn’t take more than a minute for him to recognize where he is and fumble for the glasses on the bedside table so that he can throw the world back into sharp relief.

 

Now when Victor wakes up in a single bed in Japan, he reaches for the phone second and checks the memo pad for new notes.

 

It hadn’t taken them long to work out a system after Victor had left his first note. He still remembers the response he'd received.

 

 _Katsuki Yuri_ , the note had read. _My name is Katsuki Yuri and_ _I think we need to talk._

 

That had been an understatement in Victor’s opinion, and he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. So, they worked out a system. They would leave notes for each other on their phones. Updates on what the other did or said while in control of each other’s bodies. Videos of skating routines so they would stop getting yelled at by their coaches. Victor would leave notes on how Yuri could refine his jumps and Yuri would leave ideas for Victor adjusting his step sequences or spins to maximize his artistry score.

 

Notes that made sure Victor didn't wake up sweaty and with his hair all in tangles again.

 

There was a grudging respect there, underneath the weirdness of the whole thing. Victor had to admit the younger boy was not a bad skater, young and not trained all the way out. Raw around the edges and shaky in his jumps, but there was promise there and Yuri was actually helping him draw something out of his usually technically correct, but quite often bland step sequences.

 

Navigating their now combined personal lives took a little bit more work.

 

“Wow, Yuri-kun, that was amazing! You’ll be landing quads in no time if you keep that up!” Yuko had skid to a stop as Victor had completed the last pass in the free skate he had been choreographing for Yuri’s Junior season. Well, that Yuri’s ballet instructor/interim figure skating coach Minako was choreographing and that Victor was helping to adjust. She clapped her hands together and Victor smiled his most flirtatious smile. He almost wished he had a mirror to see what it looked like on such a sweet face, but it must have looked okay because Yuko flushed pink and wobbled a bit on her skates.

 

“Thanks, Yu-chan.” Victor began to move languidly across the ice, the ghost of a simple step sequence evident as he crossed the rink from one end to the other and back again. Yu-chan. That’s what Yuri called her, so that’s what Victor had to call her, too. “Are you almost done for the day?”

 

Yuko nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I think so. Takeshi-kun was saying that he wanted to meet us in that new café downtown this evening. Did you want to come?”

 

Victor thinks it over. What would Yuri do? Probably beg off and go home. He noticed that Yuri was painfully shy. He could tell in the way he phrased his messages, in the way he begged Victor to stop making a spectacle of himself after Victor had made a scene in the hot springs when a group of overweight business men had taken him by surprise in the hot spring one time.

 

Well, Yuri wasn’t here and Victor was hungry. A café sounded wonderful.

 

“Sure!” Victor chirps and moves into skating wide loops around the rink to begin his cool down. “It’ll be nice to have some fun for a change.”

 

Yuri’s life was severely lacking in fun in Victor’s opinion. While Victor understood the drive and determination and sacrifice that was poured into the ice in order to make something beautiful, he also understood how to relax and unwind. The ice was treacherous if you didn’t watch out. It was slippery and hard in all the wrong places. Sometimes it demanded hardness and precision, sometimes it required softness and relaxation. There was a thin balance and if you teetered too far from one side to the other, it would sneak up on you and steal it all away before you could notice what was happening. Not until you were in the freefall and it was too late to do anything but pray for a soft landing.

 

Even though there were no soft landings on the ice.

 

So, Victor went to the café, knowing Yuri would be put out once he read the note in the morning, and not caring. Yuri’s friends cared about him and wanted him to be happy.

 

Yuri had a sweet tooth. Not that the other boy has told him as much, this was a cue Victor took from his body. The way Yuri’s eyes would instinctively fall on the item on the menu that had the most empty calories. Especially after a hard day, Victor could feel his mouth water when he would walk into the inn that was Yuri’s home and catch the smell of his mother’s cooking wafting out from the kitchen.

 

Yuri had been working hard lately. Victor hadn’t exactly been slacking off either, so he figured they both deserved this. He gave into the body’s craving and ordered a chocolate cake and a latte that was more sugar than expresso.

 

Victor likes Yuko and Takeshi. They were both very open and honest people and so supportive in their own ways. Where Yuko was all bubbles and sunshine, Takeshi was light teasing and steady warmth. In another life, Victor was sure he would have like to meet them on his own. Especially Yuko. She was a fan, and a good one at that. Critical where she needed to be and supportive of Victor and his career. He was flattered by her devotion, a devotion she seemed to have passed on to Yuri in turn, though Victor had been a bit disappointed when he’d woken up in Yuri’s body for the third time only to find the posters missing and hidden somewhere he hadn’t yet been able to find.

 

“Yuri-kun’s routine has been coming along. You should come check it out sometime, Takeshi-kun.” Yuko doesn’t mention Victor’s decadent purchase, hopefully assuming that Yuri would want a reward after a practice session well done. If they are suspicious there is something off about Yuri, they don’t let it show much anymore. “He’s going to make it to the Junior Grand Prix for sure!”

 

“About time you made Hasetsu proud, Yuri-kun.” Victor smiles at Takeshi's words and digs into his cake without saying anything to the contrary. He knows Yuri would. Yuri had complained to him enough about what he viewed as Victor’s misplaced confidence, but Victor couldn’t help it. There was much to be proud of here, even if Yuri didn’t want to see it. “Are you guys going to go to the festival next week?”

 

“Festival?” Victor asks. He takes out Yuri’s phone and thumbs through the most recent messages the Japanese boy has left him. He doesn’t see anything about a festival there. Of course, knowing Yuri, he might have left it out on purpose. Concerned the festival might fall on one of Victor’s days in this body and that Victor would make him go even if he didn’t want to.

 

“Tanabata, duh.” Takeshi rolls his eyes and nudges Victor in the side. “Don’t you pay attention to anything outside of skating?”

 

“I’m trying to.” Victor answers honestly. For the first time in a long time, he really is. He’s enjoying seeing the world through another pair of eyes. Seeing life from a fresh perspective. Things have been getting dull lately. Victor has been so close. So close to pushing through to where he was when he was winning gold medal after gold medal in the Junior division. So close to finding what he’s been lacking to make that happen now that he’s competing in the Seniors. “Are you both going to the festival?”

 

“I was going to.” Yuko sips on her fruity drink and tilts her head, casting her warm gaze towards Victor. That’s different. Almost flirtatious in a way. He files that away for later. “I didn’t think you would want to, though. Don’t you usually stay at the inn to lend a hand during festivals?”

 

“Yes, but this year I was thinking about maybe asking to see if I could get out for a bit. You know, take some time off.” Victor pushes up where Yuri’s glasses have been inching down his nose. No matter how many times he’s been in this body, he still can’t get used to them being there. Either that or he’ll forget about them completely and try to skate in them like he did a few times in the early days. “We should all go. Together.”

 

They agree, and Victor makes a mental note to ask Yuri’s family for the time off as soon as he gets back. Maybe if he doesn’t leave that in his daily report, Yuri won’t catch on until it’s too late to take it back.

 

Takeshi bids them goodbye outside the café. His home is in the opposite direction and Victor walks with Yuko back towards the inn.

 

His mind is filled with thoughts of the festival and what it might look like if he is lucky enough to be there for it. Suddenly, he has an idea. Yuri’s going to kill him for it if they ever do meet in person one day, but he doesn’t care.

 

“Hey, Yu-chan?” Victor slows down and Yuko does the same, looking at him with a curious look on her face. “Why don’t we go back to that café again sometime? Maybe the morning before the festival. I can schedule a rest day with Minako-sensei and we can hang out before we have to go get ready.”

 

Her smile is bright and warm and there is a muted shudder that goes down Yuri’s spine. Not quite the reaction Victor thought he would get from this body, but maybe he’s superimposing his own subconscious on the natural reactions of Yuri’s body.

 

“It’s a date!” She continues to beam, face bright and joyful the whole way to the crossroads where they split ways.

 

~

 

Yuri cannot believe this. Cannot believe Victor did this to him without his permission.

 

Cannot believe he is out on a date with his childhood crush.

 

What he can believe is how uncomfortable he is about it, though.

 

It’s like his mind and his body are in two different places now. His body is right here, in Hasetsu. He buys Yuko breakfast. He walks beside her and makes small talk as they walk through the streets, watching everyone put up the decorations and stands for the night’s festivities. His body in on a date. A date with Yuko.

 

His mind… His mind is in Russia.

 

His mind is still firmly entrenched in Victor. He looks at his phone, calculates the time difference. It’s late in the afternoon there. Victor would be getting done with practice. There is no festival in Russia for him to attend after all. He would be in the locker room, cleaning his skates and putting the soft guards on the golden blades, tucking everything away for the morning. Yuri had picked up a habit of hanging around in the evening, of dropping in on ballet practice for Yakov’s summer boot camp. There is a young boy there, blonde haired with serious eyes, that has drawn his attention. He hopes that Victor has followed his notes and has kept up the practice. If he has, he’ll be going there next.

 

Victor is… Not what Yuri had been expecting. From what he can gather, Victor is excitable and forgetful. He can be blunt and doesn’t listen to his coach. It is a far cry from the perfect façade he puts on for the media and his fans.

 

But mostly of all, Yuri thinks Victor is lonely.

 

Aside from Makkachin, Victor lives alone. Yuri doesn’t cook, but Victor does. There are always fresh ingredients in the fridge and pantry, but it’s ever only enough for one. Yuri can’t cook, but sometimes he’ll order takeaway for two and eat his half, leaving the rest for Victor to find when he wakes up. The Russian skater never mentions it in their messages, but Yuri hopes he takes the gesture for what it is. An outreach. Yuri trying to share his presence in Victor’s life in the only way he knows how.

 

Trying to show Victor he doesn’t have to be alone.

 

Maybe this date is Victor’s way of trying to reciprocate that gesture. Of showing Yuri the same thing?

 

No, that’s ridiculous. He’s probably just meddling.

 

“Yuri-kun?” Yuri snaps out of his thoughts at Yuko’s hesitant intonation. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” He tries to smile, but he knows it looks forced. It _feels_ forced. Sometimes Victor will leave him pictures. In those pictures, Yuri always looks so happy, his face lifted by a smile that reaches his eyes. It’s not that Yuri has a bad life. He really doesn’t, but he’s never seen himself look so happy when it’s not Victor inhabiting his frame. “Sorry, I know I’ve been a little distracted on and off lately. Probably just stress.”

 

“You do push yourself too hard.” Yuko states, but she’s not done. “This doesn’t feel like that, though. This feels like you have somewhere else you want to be, or maybe someone else you want to be with? Whoever it is, you should thank them for us. You’ve been so happy lately. You deserve to be happy.”

 

“Wha…?”

 

Yuko doesn’t let him get the question out. She places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “This was nice. Thank you for this morning. I appreciate it. I’ll see you tonight?”

 

Yuri supposed the rejection should hurt. He was certain he had a crush on Yuko, after all. Thought he did. Maybe not. Maybe it was something else? Yuri didn’t know and he didn’t think he had the mental fortitude to think about it right now.

 

They say goodbye and Yuri trudges back to the inn. A part of him wants to find his parents and tell them his plans have changed and that he’s going to stay in tonight after all, but his mother had been so happy when she handed him his yukata the day before. She was excited that he was finally getting out and having fun. Doing something other than going from Minako’s studio to school to the rink and then back again.

 

His rubs the lace tied to his wrist and smiles.

 

He doesn’t have to look to know this smile reaches his eyes.

 

~

 

The last time Victor had switched with Yuri had been a few days before the festival. He’d woken up and gone through his usual routine. He took Vic-chan for a walk around the inn. He grabbed his gear, ran to the rink, and practiced until the sunlight was beginning to fade. Then he ran back.

 

Before he could stow his things and make his way to the hot springs, Mari stopped him in the doorway.

 

“It’s not busy now. Let’s go for a walk, little brother.”

 

Victor is confused, but he doesn’t protest. He can’t say that he has spent a lot of time with Yuri’s sister in the past few months. She’s most been a steady presence in the background. Solid and there. Supporting Yuri without ever saying a word.

 

She never asks for much, at least not that Victor knows of, so he goes with her.

 

Mari takes him for a walk along the beach. He hasn’t gone here much. Hasn’t had much of a reason to. Maybe he should have. There is a peaceful feeling here. The sun is about the set and the sky is starting to come alive with vivid oranges and reds. The waves lap against the shore and he is overwhelmed by thoughts of home… Which home, he isn’t quite sure.

 

“Mom said you asked if you could go to the festival.” It’s not a question. It’s more of a statement, so Victor waits. Curious to see what Mari is going to say. “Do you remember the story behind Tanabata?”

 

Is he supposed to? Victor tries to bite down the feeling of panic rising up from the pit of his stomach. Is this something he should know? Something Yuri _would_ know?

 

He shakes his head. There’s no point in pretending.

 

“I thought you might not.” The corners of her mouth quirk upwards. “We call it the star festival. You see, there were two lovers living in the sky. Orohime was a weaver. Her cloth was wonderful and gorgeous and she worked hard every day to weave for her father.”

 

“But Orohime was sad. She had never been in love before, and she longed for it desperately. Her father was concerned and introduced her to Hikoboshi who was a cowherd that worked on the other side of the river that split the sky in two. The river we call the Milky Way today.” Mari’s smile turned wistful. “They fell in love, as is the way these things go, and they married soon thereafter. Once they were married, they neglected their duties, seeing nothing but their love for each other. Orohime wouldn’t weave and Hikoboshi let his cows wander throughout the stars unchecked.”

 

“Orohime’s father grew angry. He wished to have his daughter weave more cloth for him and Hikoboshi’s loose cows were a nuisance running loose through the heavens, so, in a fit of rage, he separated them and forbade them from meeting.”

 

“When her father gave her his ultimatum, Orohime fell into despair. Still she would not weave and she spent her days and night in tears.” Mari dug into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag before continuing her story. “Orohime’s father relented in the face of her anguish and agreed to a compromise. If Orohime would work hard during the year, she would be allowed to meet her husband on the seventh day of the seventh month. We call this night Tanabata.”

 

“On Tanabata night, a flock of magpies flies across the world to create a bridge so the two lovers can cross the Milky Way and meet.” Mari blows out a plume of white smoke. Victor watches as it curls lazily through the warm summer’s air. “Some say that on this beach, at sunset on Tanabata night, the world blurs and the afterlife becomes one with the waking world, through that same bridge.”

 

“It’s just a silly legend, though.” Mari shrugs. “Something to tell the young ones so they don’t scamper off during the festival and play in the waves where no one can watch them.”

 

“It’s just a silly legend, but no one comes out here on Tanabata night. Just in case. Once you’ve set foot into the underworld, it is often difficult to come back if you don’t know the way.”

 

Victor shivers in his too big bed in Saint Petersburg as Mari’s tale pops unbidden into his mind.

 

He rolls over and pulls his phone out from under his pillow. He disengages the lock and checks the time.

 

Yuri’s date should be over by now. He should be wrapped in a yukata, laughing and joking with his friends under the lights of the paper lanterns. Victor wonders if he’s having fun. If he’s allowing himself to relax.

 

If he’s thinking about Victor the way Victor is thinking about him.

 

On a whim, Victor pulls up a note from four weeks ago. A note Yuri had left with his phone number included. For emergencies, he’d said. Just in case they ever needed to speak urgently, to give some kind of warning. Victor had never tried to dial it before. There had never been a need. There had never been an emergency.

 

He dials it now, holding his breath while the phone rings.

 

There is no answer. Just a curtesy message letting him know the number has been disconnected. It plays in Japanese and then, again, in English.

 

Victor ends the call and stares at the blank screen. He can’t quite understand why, but he feels as though something is wrong, though he cannot put his finger on what it could be.

 

After that evening on the beach, he does not switch bodies with Yuri again.

 

~

 

The Grand Prix Final is in Tokyo this year and Victor cannot wait.

 

He is nervous on the plane, fidgeting in his seat and constantly fiddling with the pale blue skate lace that holds his hair. He hasn’t bothered to check but he knows, he _knows_ , Yuri will be there. He is excited to see the younger boy’s routine in its full glory at long last. To see the routine he helped shape, and to have Yuri watch what Victor’s own performance had become with the young boy’s influence.

 

They will both win gold this weekend.

 

His heart falls when they check into the hotel three days before the competition is set to begin. There is no skater from Japan here. Not in the Junior division, at least.

 

Victor leave his things in his room and seeks out the Japanese skater from the Senior division. He knows that Yuri skates alone, in his rink high above the shoreline, but perhaps this other man will know something more about the skater from the small town on the coast. Surely, he would have seen the young boy at a competition?

 

“An ice rink on the coast?” The Japanese skater’s English is good, if a little accented, and Victor is able to understand him easily. “There used to be a place like that, I think, but no one has skated there for a long time. I’m pretty sure the town was called Hasetsu.”

 

A memory flares to life in Victor’s mind.

 

“Yes! Hasetsu, that’s it!” He curses his forgetful memory. How could he have forgotten something so important as the name of the place Yuri calls home? “What do you mean no one skates there anymore?”

 

“Well, it’s hard to skate in a place that doesn’t exist, isn’t it?”

 

Victor doesn’t know what the other skater means. Of course, Hasetsu exists. He had been there not too long ago. In the body of a boy who dreamed to be a skater. A boy who dreamed to skate with him, equals on the same ice.

 

He looks up the nearest library on his phone. Stumbles there in the neon light of Tokyo at night. Finds everything he can about the town called Hasetsu.

 

The town that now resided beneath the waves.

 

Victor can’t believe it. Can’t believe what he reads. There was a town called Hasetsu, once. It was exactly where he thought it should be, but it wasn’t there anymore.

 

Three years ago, on Tanabata night there had been an earthquake out at sea. No one on land had felt it. No one had felt the tremors and warned the people gathered there in their festival finery. A tsunami had come a few hours after darkness had fallen and knocked the town into the sea. Over 500 people lost their lives.

 

He finds a list of names. A list of those that were once here, but aren’t anymore.

 

On that list are Yuko and Takeshi. Minako and Mari. Hiroko and Toshiya.

 

_Katsuki Yuri. Age fifteen._

 

Victor can’t breathe.

 

He doesn’t think. He just reacts. He goes back to the hotel and packs a bag. Buys a ticket to Kyushu. Steps off a train in a town the closest he can get to his goal.

 

There is no train station in Hasetsu any longer.

 

He walks until a kind passerby offers to drive him as close as he can. He thanks the man and goes on foot once they reach the chain link fence that prohibits anyone from walking into the ruins.

 

His finds a weak spot and crawls through. Makes his way to the beach.

 

He had left Tokyo in the morning and it is now rapidly approaching dusk. That twilight hour Mari had warned him about what felt like a lifetime ago. Runs through the rubble to the beach, slipping and sliding on wet sands, barely keeping his balance in his haste. He’s not sure what he’s running towards. Not sure what he expects to find once he gets there.

 

The beach is empty.

 

Of course, it is. He hadn’t expected anything more. Victor falls to his knees in the sand. Pounds his fists against the ground and bows his head.

 

His hair slips down over his face, the blue lace coming unwound and his hair tumbling down around him, tendrils mixing in the wet sand, turning the silver strands dull grey at the tips.

 

 _Yuri_.

 

For a moment, he thinks he can hear a response to his silent plea, but his shattered mind must be playing tricks on him because that can’t be. There is no one here. No one could answer even if the name had been called aloud. Even if he screamed it at the top of his lungs. There are only ghosts here and ghosts can’t talk.

 

His hand curls around the pale blue laces of a skate. He sinks back onto his heels, staring at the lace in the palm of his hand. It seems so familiar. Like he’s seen it before. Like it came from somewhere else.

 

A picture. A picture against the wall of an inn by the sea. A little boy with dark hair and an oversized sweater with the letter ‘Y’ boldly emblazoned on the chest. Arms spread wide and little black skates on his feet.

 

Skates with pale blue laces.

 

_Victor!_

 

Victor’s eyes go wide and his heart thumps in his ears. There are prickles running along his skin and the fine hairs on his forearms and the nape of his neck stand on end.

 

A voice in his head. He’s heard that voice before.

 

 _He remembers_.

 

~

 

Yuri had been so nervous. He still couldn’t believe his parents had agreed. Had let Mari whisk away their baby boy to Russia to see an exhibition. An exhibition Victor would be performing in. Yuri will never know what Mari did or said to make it happen, but he knows he is forever in her debt.

 

The whole time on the plane had spent in nervous anticipation. He was going to do it. He was going to see _Victor_.

 

What was he going to say? What _could_ he say?

 

He knew so much about Victor now. About the man behind the skating and the posters. That Victor, or at least his body, was a morning person. That he was the kind of man that left his coach in shocked silence when he would apologize or obey a command. That he worked so hard, pushing himself until his feet bled to chase that dream of dancing on the ice.

 

The dream they both shared.

 

Yuri twisted the bracelet on his wrist.

 

Moscow was so big and foreign and bright. Yuri didn’t know how anyone found anything in a town of this size. He let Mari lead them to the hotel and they spent their first two days pounding the pavement. Mari thought they were seeing the sights.

 

Yuri was looking for a head of silver hair.

 

He had tried to call Victor once they landed. Tried to use the number he had left in Yuri’s phone, but the call never went through. The number was disconnected. Yuri tried not to let it bother him. Tried not to let it stoke the anxiety that always waited for him beneath the surface.

 

There could be a lot of reasons Victor might have changed numbers. He’s a popular skater, even if he has only scrounged up a handle of medals since his Junior days. A fan could have been harassing him and he had it changed, not thinking to update it in Yuri’s phone. Victor was forgetful. That was another thing he had learned.

 

The day of the exhibition arrives and Yuri can’t stand still. Their plane is schedule to leave a few hours after the show is over, and Yuri knows he won’t have much time.

 

Watching Victor skate, in person, it enthralls him.

 

It stills the nerves firing throughout his body and causes the breath to catch in his throat. Victor is grace on the ice. Ethereal. Yuri can only dream of skating like that when he turns nineteen sometime in the distant future. Watching Victor skate, he forgets the past few months. Forgets what it feels like to be in that body as it spins and dips and flies through the hair, silver hair fanning behind him like a flag.

 

Afterwards, he runs to the back door of the arena. Where he knows Victor will be.

 

There is a crowd and they push and shove and yell as the skaters come out.

 

Yuri would usually stay to the back. He doesn’t like large crowds. Doesn’t like to be jostled and stepped on, but he is frantic now. He can see the flash of silver through the bodies pressed around him and he lunges forward, stepping out and directly into Victor’s path.

 

Blue eyes meet brown and Yuri’s vision swims. He smiles, but Victor doesn’t smile back. Not really.

 

He can see it in those piercing eyes. Victor doesn’t recognize him. Doesn’t know who he is.

 

His heart plummets. He can’t breathe. The crowd is more oppressive than they were a few seconds ago and Yuri lets himself be pushed back. Trying to fade away. He can feel Mari’s hand wrap around his wrist.

 

Before he can be pulled away, there is something. A spark. A jolt. The world shuddering on its axis. Victor’s eyes snap back to his, and there is something _there._

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Yuri! Katsuki Yuri!”

 

He doesn’t know if Victor can hear his shout over the noise of the other fans, but Yuri doesn’t care. On impulse, he winds the blue lace from around his wrist and tosses one end towards Victor’s outstretched hand.

 

Mari pulls harder and he stumbles back, the end of the lace slipping through his fingers as Victor tugs in the opposite direction.

 

And then they are gone.

 

Yuri is back on a plane headed for Japan. Tanabata is next week and they cannot linger here in Russia. They have to go home to prepare.

 

~

 

When Victor opens his eyes, he almost screams in relief.

 

He has never been happier in his life to not be able to see clearly.

 

He lurches out of bed, disturbing Vic-chan in the process and the small dog goes skittering across the floor and out of the bedroom. He is halfway out of the room before he remembers to grab the glasses off the bedside table. When he does, the phone that is lying there buzzes and draws his attention to it.

 

The date flashes before his eyes. Tonight. The festival is tonight. He still has time!

 

Victor runs through the house, knowing he is causing a commotion, but not caring. He is supposed to meet Yuko on the bridge that leads into the town proper in ten minutes. He needs to get there. Needs to warn her. They have to find a way to get everybody out.

 

When Victor finds her and imparts his tale to her with breathless desperation, she frowns and stares at him in disbelief.

 

“You expect me to believe that you know there is going to be a tsunami tonight? That we’re all going to be washed away?” Yuko seems concerned and she reaches out to rest the back of her hand against Victor’s sweaty brow. “Have you hit your head? Are you sick? Yuri-kun, do we need to take you to a doctor?”

 

“Yuko, what if I’m right?” Victor doesn’t know how he’s going to get her to believe him. He just knows he has to somehow. “Please, I promise I am. I swear it. We have to get everyone out of here.”

 

Maybe there is something in his tone, something reflected in Yuri’s expressive browns eyes, but he can see Yuko crack and cave. He can feel the fear rising up in her just as it brings the taste of bile to the back of his throat. They don’t have much time.

 

Takeshi meets them at the inn where they have retreated to formulate a plan.

 

“There’s an emergency broadcast system for the whole town. It’s supposed to be for emergencies.” Takeshi had taken surprisingly little convincing. Victor wasn’t sure if the other boy really believed him or was just going along with him for the sake of it, but he didn’t care. Yuko and Takeshi were listening. They were going to help him. “My father has the key to the broadcast station. I can get us in, patch us through to the whole town, but what is going to make them listen to us? They’ll probably just think it’s a prank.”

 

“There has to be something we can do. A distraction or something. A way to make everyone feel just enough unease that they will go along with the evacuation.” Victor runs a finger along the map that is spread in front of them. He has marked the path of the tsunami’s destruction in red, circled the safe places in blue. Marked out the best routes to get there in green.

 

“Fireworks!” Yuko shouts. “There is always a big fireworks display in the evening. I can sneak in and set them off early. We can announce that there was an accident and the firework caused a fire and everyone needs to get out for their own safety in case the wind blows the fire towards the town.”

 

“It could work.” Victor admits. There is a lot of room for error. It’s afternoon now and they are going to have to scramble to do their parts. Going to have to skulk around in the shadows so the adults don’t notice three teenagers moving around where they aren’t supposed to be, but it’s the best plan they have.

 

There isn’t time to think of another.

 

They set off. Takeshi goes to break into the broadcast station. His job is easier. No one mans the station regularly and there is little chance he will be caught. Yuko and Victor have the harder task.

 

It feels like time is speeding up even and Victor fights to push it back. His feet feel like lead and he fumbles with Yuri’s glasses as they duck through the brush. Not for the first time, he wishes the Japanese boy would wear contacts. It would definitely make this easier.

 

“Yuri-kun! Quickly.”

 

Yuko has gone up ahead and she waves Victor over. There is a hole in the fence surrounding where the fireworks will go off later tonight. Yuko wiggles through.

 

“Alright. I’ll hide here until after sunset.” Victor listen intently as Yuko speaks. He cannot afford to forget a single detail. Five hundred lives depend on it. “Go borrow Mari’s bike. Once we set these off we’re going to have to move fast. Takeshi’s broadcast alone might not be enough to do it. We’re going to have be down there to point people in the right direction.”

 

Victor nods and leaves her. Running through the town so fast his every inhale stabs his lungs and his calves burn with the effort, but he doesn’t stop and he doesn’t slow.

 

As he reaches the inn, the sun is beginning to descend below the skyline. He can see the waves, turning blood red in the waning light as they crash upon the shore. For a moment, it’s almost like he is back there, lying against the cold, wet sand…

 

Wait… If Victor is here then Yuri… Yuri would be there. On the beach. Where Victor had been before he’d woken up three years in the past and back in Yuri’s body.

 

Victor changes direction.

 

The sand is deeper than he remembered and he is already so tired. Yuri’s body is conditioned, athletic and strong, but it is still young and it can’t go forever. Victor stumbles and falls and few times, but he pushes himself back up. He has to keep going. He has to get there before twilight falls completely and he misses his chance.

 

The beach is empty.

 

Victor falls to his knees.

 

Could he have been wrong? Had he just wasted time that wasn’t his to waste?

 

“Yuri!”

 

He knows it’s stupid. Knows there won’t be an answer. Mari is right. The beach is deserted. There is no one here.

 

_Victor!_

 

His head snaps up and he grabs the glasses from off his face, cleaning them on the hem of his shirt. He put them back on and stumbled to his feet, but he still doesn’t see anyone. Doesn’t seen anything that even looks like a person.

 

Victor stumbles forward and yells again.

 

“Yuri!”

 

“Victor!”

 

This time he knows what he heard. Recognizes that voice because it is his own. The Russian accent would have given it away even if Victor had any doubts.

 

He runs.

 

As the light around him turns purple and blue and the sun slips below the waves, it feels as though Victor runs through something light. Like a cobweb or a sheet. There is a spark that shoots through his body from the soles of his feet to the top of his head and he stumbles and spins around.

 

Yuri is there.

 

Black hair that is now messy and clinging to his head under a layer of sweat. Brown eyes, opened wide beneath the clear lenses. Mouth parted and breath coming out in gasps. Tanned skin that has the pale pallor of panic underneath the tan. The knees of Yuri’s jeans are dirty and ripped, probably from the times Victor stumbled on the beach. There is a patch of red peeking out from one of the largest tears where Yuri must be bleeding. Where Victor caused Yuri to bleed in his haste.

 

“Victor.”

 

It’s strange, hearing his name fall from Yuri’s lips. The ‘V’ is softened and the ‘R’ rolls off his tongue and keeps going. Victor steps forward, silver hair drifting over his shoulders and dirty. Coated with sand.

 

“Yuri.”

 

It takes too long and not long enough to make it to Yuri’s side and Victor almost can’t find the words to say.

 

“I was starting to wonder if I was never going to meet you.” Yuri breaks the silence and flushes at his bold words. “Katsuki Yuri.”

 

“Victor Nikiforov.” Victor smiles then. The situation is grave and he shouldn’t be, but he can’t help it. Yuri is here. Yuri is real. This is not a dream.

 

“Victor, I…”

 

“Wait. There’s something I have to tell you.”

 

And tell him, Victor does. He tells the whole story and leaves nothing out. He details the plan. What Takeshi will do once he gets the signal. Where Yuko is waiting for Yuri to pick her up once she completes her job. Yuri listens with rapt attention and doesn’t question it. When he is done, Yuri gives him a soft look and a genuine smile.

 

“That makes sense.” He says. “Why you didn’t recognize me when I went to find you in Russia. You didn’t know me then. Our times weren’t in sync. How old are you now?”

 

“Twenty-one.” Victor doesn’t know why it matters. Doesn’t like the sadness he hears in Yuri’s voice. It’s like the other boy has given up even though he hasn’t really begun.

 

“Twenty-one.” Yuri echoes. “I never turned, twenty-one, did I? I never got to skate on the same ice as you.”

 

“Not yet, but you will.” Victor reaches out and grabs Yuri’s hand. The lace from Yuri’s skate is pressed between their skin now. “This is yours, isn’t it? This belonged to you.”

 

“Yes, it did.” Yuri takes it. Their hands separate. “It was from my first pair of skates. The first ones my parents ever bought me. When I outgrew them, and then the next pair, and then the next, until my feet were finally big enough that I needed laces that were longer… I couldn’t bear to throw the laces away. I liked them. I was ten when I first saw you skate. My laces reminded me of you. Of your eyes, and your hair. After seeing that, how could I throw them away?”

 

“I’m glad you didn’t. If you had I may never have met you. Never would have been able to find you here.” Victor dug through his pockets, pulled out the marker he had stashed there on a whim before he’d left Tokyo. “Twilight will be over soon. You’ll have to work fast. I’m.. I’m afraid we won’t remember each other when we wake up. Like in the beginning. How it felt like a dream and tried to fade away.”

 

“I remember.” Yuri held out his right hand. “Write your name and I’ll write mine on you. That way we don’t forget.”

 

Victor nods, reaches out and writes in English on Yuri’s palm. Hands over the pen for Yuri to do the same. A line appears on his palm. The beginnings of something important. Life altering.

 

The marker lands in the sand with a soft _thump_.

 

“No!” It is full dark now and Victor spins around in the sand as he tries to catch sight of a head of dark hair, tries to find the glint of glasses in the moonlight. He finds nothing. There is no one there.

 

“Yuri! Katsuki Yuri. That’s his name. His name is Katsuki Yuri and he is going to be fine. He’s going to make it. I’m going to see him again.” Victor bends down and grabs the marker from the sand. “Katsuki Yuri. I have to remember. I can’t forget his name…”

 

There is a line on Victor’s palm. He doesn’t remember where it came from. He must have drawn it on himself as he is holding a marker in his hand, the cap lying forgotten on the beach.

 

What was he trying to write? Victor can’t remember.

 

He brushes his hair out of his face. Digs in his pocket to see if he has brought a spare tie. He did not.

 

Why is he here? He has a competition in two days time, so why is he on a strange beach in the middle of nowhere?

 

Why does he feel like there is something missing?

 

~

 

Yuri is crying. He is running through the darkness and he is crying.

 

There is something important he has to do. He needs Mari’s bike and he needs to get to where Yuko will be waiting for him. He needs to get the people out of town. There will be an earthquake that no one will feel. There will be a wave that no one will see coming. They have to get out.

 

Who told him that? Someone important. Someone he has to remember.

 

Yuri is so tired. He can see the lights of his home ahead of him. Can hear the sounds of people coming and going, of music and laughter. His feet are so heavy. He can’t do it.

 

He falls to the ground.

 

What is his name?

 

Yuri’s hand is stretched out in front of him, blue lace wrapped around his wrist like it always is. He opens his fist and there are words written there. Yes, his name! The boy was supposed to write his name!

 

 _I love you_.

 

“You stupid, idiot.” Yuri laughs even as he cries. “How am I supposed to remember your name when you write something like that instead?”

 

He gets to his feet. He can’t stop. He has to push on.

 

They are depending on him.

 

~

 

Victor doesn’t remember much from his time in Japan. It’s all hazy in his memories. There was a beach, although he can’t remember why he would have wanted to go there.

 

There was an inn, and a town called Hasetsu.

 

There was a nice family there. A girl with short hair and blonde tips had given him a ride to the train station. Everything was so shiny and new there. He’d commented on it and the girl had laughed.

 

She told him everything used to be old. Ancient, even. But then there had been an earthquake out at sea and a great wave had come and washed it all way. If it hadn’t been for some kids playing a prank and setting of fireworks that had been stockpiled for the festival that was going on that night and then flipping the switch for the emergency broadcast system they might not have made it.

 

There might not have been anyone left to rebuild.

 

Yakov had screamed at him for hours when he made it back to his hotel. Bedraggled and bleary and still disoriented. Victor had to skate his short program the next day. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, tired as he was, but he managed.

 

He won gold in the Grand Prix final that year. Flew home to Russia.

 

Victor turned twenty-two.

 

He cut his hair.

 

He kept winning.

 

There was something missing…

 

~

 

Five years later, Victor had a string of gold medals. He had won every title worth winning several times over. He was Living Legend.

 

Something was missing.

 

It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A buzzing in the back of his brain.

 

Sometimes it felt like he was right there. Like the missing puzzle piece was right in front of him. He could feel his fingertip graze it, but the contact only seemed to push it further away.

 

There were times, at competitions, went it felt like there were a pair of eyes on him, boring into him as though they could see through to his very soul.

 

There was never anyone there.

 

Another Grand Prix Final. Another gold medal, this time won in Sochi.

 

‘Stay Close to Me.’

 

That had been the name of his program. The free skate that was had brought him within a tenth of a point of breaking his own record.

 

Stay close to me? Why? Who? There was no one Victor wanted to stay close to. There never had been.

 

There wasn’t something missing. There was someone missing, but Victor didn’t know where to look.

 

_Who are you?_

 

He felt it, on his back. The gaze. The one that burned and chilled him at the same time.

 

Victor was leaving the arena, talking to Yuri Plisetsky. The boy had talent, but there was something there under the surface that was holding him back. Arrogance? General teenage rebellion? Victor wasn’t sure, didn’t know if he wanted to bother to find out. The kid was talent, yes, but stubborn. Victor knew how that went. He was stubborn himself when he wanted to be.

 

“Yuri, you need to watch your step sequences, they are getting sloppy...”

 

_Yuri..._

 

As he said the name, the feeling of being watched intensified and Victor spun around to find someone was watching this time.

 

Dark hair, brown eyes Victor could get lost in behind blue frames.

 

A pale blue lace wrapped around his wrist.

 

_Who are you?_

**_Your name is--!_ **


End file.
